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Sunday, October 14, 2012

On Funerals and Pride and Kindness

Jean Sexton muses:

Many of you have read our post on Thursday about the forthcoming service for Staff Sergeant Donna Johnson who was killed in Afghanistan. She lived in Raeford and was to be buried on Saturday. When word came that some people might arrive who meant to make cruel memories for the family, the community came together and vowed it would not happen. We would be there for her family to see that many, many people valued her life and her sacrifice and mourned for her family's loss and, by extension, our own loss. Whenever a brave person such as Donna Johnson is lost, then we are affected by that person not being there. 

This post is "the rest of the story" as I saw it.

I did get to Raeford very early on Saturday morning, shortly after sunrise. For a while I was worried that there would be sparse attendance. That worry soon abated as our group grew and grew and grew. We soon had a crowd that extended 0.2 miles and was about four people across. The police showed up around 10:00 to tell us the streets to the church were lined and we'd have to fill in after the family left from their home near the park. The police wanted to get the family to the church before protesters could start their activity.

With the exception of a small hitch in things (and I wasn't involved in it as I obeyed our orders from the police and VFW) everything went well that day. The family was shielded from any unpleasantness. I think there were far more than 1,000 people there (the police estimated that there were between 1,000 and 1,500 people) lining the streets. As the dignitaries passed by after the funeral I saw more stripes on uniforms than I'd ever seen outside of a movie. Ft. Bragg brought in two busloads of soldiers who attended the funeral. More came on their own to show support for a fallen soldier, including a young man who had recently returned from Afghanistan. He was accompanied by his pregnant wife. They stood with me for much of the time. I felt so safe in their company.

I met veterans from different wars who came out to give support to one of their own. I saw a lady who needed a walker in order to travel walk multiple blocks to take her place on a line that was two to four people deep. Rabbis, priests, children, and ordinary people came out on that day. All of them were there to show the family that we cared and to keep uninvited guests from marring the event with their hate-filled slogans and signs. I think we succeeded.

When the family passed, about half of the people lining the streets were saluting. I stood, with my American flag held high and sometimes floating in a fickle breeze. I saw the family pass and saw their pain and loss, but also saw them seeing the crowd paying their respect.

The family chose to have Staff Sergeant Johnson's flag-draped coffin in a glass-sided hearse pulled by a motorcycle. Those of us who were there to show support were thus allowed to feel that we were closer to this fallen soldier and also to be more a part of the ceremony. What did me in was the sight of her riderless motorcycle on a trailer being pulled by another motorcycle. This modern version of the riderless horse really hit me and I teared up, but I kept my flag up and straight and that was important to me. The tradition is that our flag always flies high and does not dip. I wanted to do the right thing because I think she would have valued that.

In the future, whenever I wonder if people are essentially good, I will think back on this day, the day of Staff Sergeant Donna Johnson's funeral. So many people came together to give the family something good to ease their bitter loss. The only reward for these people was the knowledge that they'd done something good. I am proud to have been a part of it and to have faced my own fears of crowds. Maybe Donna Johnson lent me a bit of her own courage or maybe I found mine because her own called mine forth.

In closing, to all of you who have served or are serving, thank you. Call me fanciful, but I felt that you were there in spirit, helping me keep the flag high and proud. I hope that I continue to live a life worthy of your sacrifices.